


latticework

by Marenke



Series: Inktober 2019 [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Amortentia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Inktober, Inktober 2019, Lawyer Harry Potter, Love Potion/Spell, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), magical contracts fuckin up ppl, nothing explicit per se other than the use of love potions, the dramione is background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-11-28 02:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marenke/pseuds/Marenke
Summary: There’s a pattern to their meetings, secretive as they are.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inktober prompt day 10: pattern  
this came. more fucked up than expected im so sorry

There’s a pattern to their meetings, secretive as they are. Harry monitored the political section of the newspaper, waiting for news of whatever the politicians of the Wizengamot have cooked up this time. It is a particular name he looked for, and when he found it, and would hum all day, trial to trial to trial, smiling softly.

His clients - Muggleborns disgruntled with the conditions offered by their still quite prejudiced society and Pureblood ladies with contracts with so many rules that it strangled them half-alive to breathe - would say nothing, quirking an eyebrow at the sight of their lawyer smiling before the case even starts. Although, usually, they take it as a good sign that Harry had everything ready to absolutely destroy the other party, which wasn’t far from the truth.

Harry was a very good lawyer, after all, specializing in ending or loosening up marriage contracts who depended on magic to thrive and enforce its clauses. Not that he did it because he found it the most interesting subject in the world - dry, boring and tedious, only made slightly better because apparently all books on magically enforced contracts were found right at his home, in Grimmauld Place -, but because Harry had a vested interest in it.

The second part involved a letter. A pressed flower would come, and a quick burning spell would reveal the location of their meeting. Usually, the small flat Harry rented in Knockturn Alley, small, cramped, and with only the bare necessities, always dusty because of how rarely they could use it.

This letter was no different - the aster flower, pressed, purple petals going skywards. Harry didn’t even need to burn it, absent-mindedly feeding the carrier owl some of the treats he kept for them. He guarded it on the secret compartment underneath his desk, opened only with his magical signature, and let the owl go back to the mail carrier it had come from. Watching the creature go wistfully, Harry couldn’t help but smile -  _soon_ , he thought to himself.

Grabbing his cloak and suitcase, Harry left his office, signaling to his secretary that he’d be out for the day, and she nodded, grabbing the magazine she kept underneath the table and reading it, waiting for her shift to end - there were always stragglers, calling in even when Harry wasn’t, and he had had enough headaches with people complaining to know that it was better to leave someone in the office when he wasn’t during commercial hours.

Harry Apparated to the flat, disrupting the dust, and he set his suitcase down with a sigh, taking off his wand from his holster. A few quick cleaning spells set that straight, though, and Harry, content with the results, beamed at the place with little in terms of future, but full of memories.

The place cleaned, Harry took off his cloak, setting it on one of the two chairs available, and going to the small bedroom to grab another set of clothes, ones that weren’t too flashy, perfect for wandering around the Alley. Dressing himself in it, Harry clasped the innocuous silver clasps, and Apparated near a shady potion shop there, entering the shop. The window panes were sticky and coated with dusk, offering no natural light, but that was better; it hid a person’s apparencies. A silent spell to his throat changed his voice, a necessity in these parts.

Harry approached the counter, taping the little golden bell - also sticky, and Harry thanked himself for the gloves. The man behind the counter appeared from a half-open door, and the thick smell of brewing potions hit his face.

“The potion in name of one Thomas Riddle.” Harry smiled, voice soft and impossible to recognize. He still surprised himself with the results; even if it had been five years since this particular arrangement had started.

The man grunted and nodded, going to the back once more, and Harry absently tapped his fingers on the counter, waiting. As usual, it had been prepaid. She was so very used to this, prepared from the get-go. Harry assumed that the project that had been approved yesterday had been in talks for much, much longer.

The clink of glass against wood woke up Harry from his thoughts, and he looked up, the man already going back to the back. The potion shone a deep red, and Harry pocketed it, before Apparating back to the flat.

Step four was arriving while she was already there. Daphne sat on the chair were his cloak was, using it to cover herself, hands fisting the fabric and bringing it close to her nose, inhaling the smell that was Harry. Harry performed part five, which was to take a moment to breathe her in, burning in his brain the image of her tightly wound deep red braid, the high-collared robe she wore in white, the dark blue corset and the closed eyes which he knew were black in color.

And then, to break the illusion.

“Welcome home, Daphne.” He called, and she stopped, frozen still, looking at him with big eyes, a deer in headlights. Then, a smile, and Harry set the potion on the table as he sat down, opposite to her. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, but let us talk. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Her smile, shining in the dark flat illuminated it, and Harry smiled back, the two of them chatting idly.

They were in this secret affair for a while, now. It had started when she had come, veiled and cloaked, to his office, all but begging - her pride wouldn’t allow her to beg - for him to find a loophole to end her marriage to Theodore Nott, magically enforced by contract, risking her losing her magic if she divorced him, and if he divorced her as well, then she also would lose her magic, for failure of complying with her wifely duties. It was a lose-lose situation, and Harry - at that point, fresh out of law school, more interested in defending the poor and defenseless than rich Pureblood ladies wanting to get out of their marriages - accepted it because he had been struck clear in the heart by her beauty.

It was a stupid, idiotic motive, but Harry was nothing but stupid and idiotic at the end of the day. He accepted her case, and read her contract carefully.

After that, his research and subsequent fame as a prolific divorce lawyer started, witches flocking from everywhere he could name and not name to him so that they could get away from husbands that, quite frankly, did not deserve them - but that was the society they lived in. Maybe in a distant future, away, it would be different, but in the 19th century it was like such.

“Well, my husband shall come back soon, and he’ll wonder where I’ve been.” Daphne smiled, rolling her eyes, looking at the clock, setting her wand on the table and reaching for the potion. She cracked the seal and inhaled the scent, smiling to herself like she was the only person in the world. 

Harry watched and drank her.

There had been a loophole on her contract, which allowed this affair to happen: she could be in love with anyone else other than her husband, but having sex was off limits, as long as she was clear-headed. Therefore, false love, conceived out of potions, wasn’t something that would make her a Squib, since she wasn’t up to par in her mental qualities, clouded by someone’s scheme as she was. That was their only respite, and Harry longed for the day that he would have Daphne as  _Daphne_ , not the lovesick creature the potion created.

At first, he had resisted the idea, but Daphne - who longed to have anything to spite her husband, to be herself again and not the thing her husband had molded her into - insisted, and Harry relented. He hadn’t liked it, those first few times, but if it was the only way to have her, then...

She looked at him through her lashes and gulped down the entire vial in one go, and when she set it back on the table, her eyes shone in the deep red of the potion, a lazy smile taking her face.

“Dear.” She called, smiling like she loved him. Harry offered her a constrained smile.

“My love.” He replied. This would have to do for now.

* * *

The sixth part was, after she had gone, clean and bathed and sober, only the vial on the table a remnant of the night, was longing for the next meeting, Harry staring at the ceiling while fighting the urge to stay awake. He knew sleep would lie to him and tell him that the effects of Amortentia were real, that it wasn’t an act of potion, but the guilty part of his brain, the one that told him to research and find a way to make hers his - if she would like, of course - was stronger.

Sighing, Harry rose up from his spot on the bed, dressed himself, and decided that maybe he should check once more the 15th century section on Grimmauld Place. Perhaps there would be something useful there this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the good people of ffnet asked for this and i was like aight

“Visitor for you, sir.” Said his secretary, after a soft knock on his door. Harry rose his eyes from the dreadfully boring, yet clear open-and-close divorce case; at least mrs. Doyle would get her original surname with ease.

The wording from the secretary made Harry raise his eyes.  _ Visitor  _ differed from  _ client _ ; the former was usually one of his sources who brought in stolen papers from the Ministry, the latter was the money-bringer. Issue was, usually, his visitors came in in specific days of the week, which meant only one thing: trouble.

A headache started forming itself, and Harry nodded, setting aside mrs. Doyle’s papers. 

“Tell my _visitor_ to come in.” Harry said, and the secretary nodded, leaving for a moment, speaking in a low voice.

A second after, Hermione entered, dressed in a heavy dress and a dark veil, but Harry would recognize her walk anywhere; why, they were friends. Loosely, maybe, considering her marriage, but friends nonetheless.

“Mrs. Malfoy, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” He asked, and Hermione took off the veil, sighing heavily. “I don’t assume it’s a divorce.”

“Merlin, no.” She produced something from her heavy skirts, a thick, rolled parchment, faded with age, which she set on the table. “My wedding with Draco is going fantastic.”

Their engagement had been an unusual one, Harry would give her that; as a Muggleborn, there wasn’t much power available for her to grab and claim, which was a shame, considering her intelligence. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy had the power, but none of the ideas and a small inbreeding problem that wasn’t a secret for anyone with a pair of ears. What had started as a terrible marriage of convenience had flourished into a pretty well-working relationship: Draco was now Minister, and Hermione was… Minister, too, he guessed? 

“Glad to hear that my services aren’t needed.” Harry rested his back on the chair, clasping his hands together, and Hermione pushed the scroll further down the table, hitting a precariously stacked pile of paper that, thankfully, did not fall. “So, what brings you here?”

“A friend cannot visit another friend during work hours? You wound me.” Hermione sniffed, false, and Harry wondered if perhaps she hadn’t been around ladies of high station too much. Then the facade fell, and an honest smile took Hermione’s face, the same Muggleborn he had known back in school, earnest and eager to learn. “Just kidding. Me and Draco came back from Belgium a few days ago, and just now I found time to deliver you this. Open up.”

He did, picking up the scroll and unfurling it, revealing faded ink and the vague smell of mildew. In old-looking letters,  _ Marriage contract 'twixt the issues of Hnott and Greengrass,  _ followed by a long text that Harry felt like he knew the content, even without reading, words familiar and that he knew the meaning by heart - he had spent hours poured over it, trying to find impossible loopholes.

Snapping his eyes out of the parchment, he looked at Hermione, who seemed pretty pleased at herself.

“Is this…?” Harry’s mind raced, full of possibilities. The copy of the contract Daphne had been a modern version, with many pages either redacted or lost to time; Harry knew, though, that in a court of law, the older contract held more power than the newer. 

“The  _ original  _ marriage contract between Daphne and Theodore’s family? Yes, it is. It was a lot of work to get, but it was absolutely worth it.” She rose, patting Harry’s head softly. Hermione probably did the same to her son, that quiet kid named Scorpius, if he remembered his name right. “You deserve some happiness, even if I disagree that you  _ just  _ had to find it in a married woman’s arms.”

“She makes me happy.” It felt childish, it felt foolish: it was the truth.

“And that’s why I’m aiding you. Besides, Nott rejected my propositions… I mean, _Draco’s_… One too many times, you know? A divorce will _just_ ruin his career. You know how those Wizengamot men are. Fickle things for flicker men.” Hermione grinned, stretching and grabbing her veil, putting it in place; Harry couldn’t help but think that she should’ve been put in Slytherin, all those years ago. “I should go, I promised Scorpius I’d tutor him today on Arithmancy.”

Wasn't that kid three years old?

“Are you raising a boy or a genius? Let me accompany you to the exit, at least.” Harry rose from his seat, and Hermione tutted.

“ _ Please _ , do I look like some weak woman to you? Use your time to study that parchment. I can find my way out.” Harry nodded, and he knew better than to discuss with Hermione. “After the Nott divorce is over, you two should invite me to the wedding.”

A blush crept through his face, and Hermione chuckled as she left. Harry followed her, but stopped in front of his secretary.

“Cancel everyone today. Some new information regarding a case just came, and I’ll take the day to study it. If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

The secretary nodded, taking out her magazine, and Harry closed himself in his office, taking a deep breath before getting ready to decipher the contract.

* * *

Night had fallen long ago; Harry had taken work home, the contract neatly put on his suitcase like a most precious family jewel. When he arrived, he waved off Dobby, the poor old thing squeaking for a moment before fading into the background of domestic work, a mere nod of his head telling the house-elf to bring his meals to him.

He did, and that’s why Harry almost spilled coffee all over the parchment after he read one of the subclauses. Squinting his eyes, he mouthed the words, translating them from the old English to a more modern version, but the meaning held true, nonetheless.

“ _ If by the time this contract is a hundred and twenty years old and no heir has been produced from the union, then the contract is rendered null and void…”  _ Could it be the loophole Daphne had been seeking? Grabbing his wand, Harry tapped the old paper, a murmur speaking the spell that worked as Veritaserum for those who couldn’t speak anymore, either because they lacked a voice or, in this case, because it was just parchment and ink.

The words in the paper glowed, shining brightly against Harry’s glasses, and a grin overtook his face. The words were true, and a quick check on the date the contract was signed, back in the 13th century, and the grin spread further. The spell he murmured again was just the icing on the cake, ringing true once more.

“Dobby, fetch me some parchment and more coffee.” He said, and the house-elf popped into existence for a moment, the items already in his hands. “Thank you.”

Dobby squeaked once more, and disappeared again. Grabbing a feather, Harry dipped it on ink, penning a short letter to be sent as soon as possible. 

Sitting back after finishing and sealing it, Harry wondered why such a clause had been added; perhaps the men that wrote it didn’t think it’d take roughly six centuries for the contract to come to fruition.

Well, nevermind; it had worked on Daphne’s favor, in the end.

* * *

The letter had been sent at four in the morning. By nine, Daphne was already at his office, heavily veiled and cloaked, looking like a widow in mourning.

“Mrs. Steele, here to sort out your husband’s inventory?” The lie came smoothly, and Daphne… Well, Harry guessed she nodded; the veil made it hard to know, but he was almost sure it bobbed up and down, ripples in the black fabric. “Then follow me.”

His secretary opened the magazine she always brought, aware that it’d take a while, and Daphne followed him, silent steps and not a peep from her. When the door closed behind her, Harry set up all protection spells he knew, and only then she took off the veil, the cloak being set aside. As usual, her red hair was on its tight braid, her robes cream colored and neat, offsetting the brown leather corset. She looked stunning, and the world stopped moving for a second as Harry took her in. 

“Daphne. Please sit.” Harry said, unable to stop himself from smiling, and she did as well, sitting down. He opened his suitcase, picking up the ancient contract from within its depths, and setting it on the table. “I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen this, but…”

He slid the parchment to her, and Daphne picked it up gingerly, opening it and gasping softly when she read the title, looking from the faded ink to Harry.

“How did you get this?” She stared at the parchment again, squinting her eyes to focus on reading.

“I have my contacts. And I’ve already checked it, it would hold true in a court of law.” Harry relaxed against his chair, hands clasping themselves without prompting. “Subclause 16-dot-five-dot-six-dot-one.”

Daphne unfurled the scroll further, reading said subclause, and all the hours Harry hadn’t slept that night made the smile she gave him, rising to her feet, parchment still clutched tightly on her hands.

“So according to this, I’ve never been married? I am… _Free_?” The words came tentative out of Daphne’s mouth, as if she couldn’t believe they were true.

“Well, not right now, since we’d need to submit a few forms to annul your marriage formally, but contract wise? Contract wise, you are single, miss Greengrass.”

Daphne’s grin grew, and she let go of the parchment carefully, before going around the table, putting her gloved hands on Harry’s face. His hands, meanwhile, found her hips, so different for his touch when fabric covered them.

“I’ve longed for so long to do this, Harry.” She mumbled, looking straight into his eyes, the smile softer. “Well, at least, as myself.”

“I can say I feel the same.” Harry replied, and Daphne leant down to kiss him. Her mouth, even though it was the same as from before, felt different, as if this was a new person he had just learned about. It had a familiar unfamiliarity, he decided, deepening the kiss, bringing her closer.

Magic bubbled under the surface, threatening to spill, but not to leave; no, never to leave. Magic had no reason to leave Daphne, unbounded by contract as she was.

When they separated, it was with a smile.

“I’ll submit the paperwork as soon as I finish it.” He murmured, and Daphne let go of his face, their hands clasping together without meaning. Even through the gloves, she was warm. “And then we can be together.”

She nodded.

“I can barely  _ wait  _ to see Theo’s face when the papers are served.” Daphne said, and a malicious grin took Harry’s face. 

A knock ended their world; Daphne let go as if her hands burnt, and Harry straightened himself as she went for her veil, adjusting it in place.

“One moment.” He called, rising from his chair. Daphne finished fixing her appearance as Harry went to the door. As soon as she was finished, a bobbing nod that sent ripples through the veil confirming it, Harry opened the door, his secretary waiting with that bored look of hers. “Yes?”

“The nine am client is here, sir.” She said, giving him the papers. A quick scan told him it was -  _ guess what! _ \- yet another dreadfully boring divorce case. Harry smiled and thanked her, eyeing mrs. Salvatore on the waiting room briefly before turning to Daphne in her mourning black.

“Mrs. Steele, thank you for coming in. I shall send the papers as soon as I finish them.”

Daphne nodded, again, and left the room, not looking back: doing so would be risky. 

His secretary stared at him, conspiratorial, and leaned in. She waited until Daphne had gone, but not enough time that mrs. Salvatore would’ve risen up to claim a seat on his office.

“If you’ll allow me the indiscretion, sir, try to schedule your…” She stopped, licked her lips, gathering words. “Affairs for later in the day, when I won’t have to interrupt you.”

Harry nodded, smiled and thanked her for her careful insight before bringing in mrs. Salvatore.

* * *

The contract annulment was written in between consults, waking up earlier for work and going to bed later. It took three days worth of stolen time; again, Harry was so used to writing annulments they just came to him, automatically; the hardest was making copies of the contract to send out to the appropriate channels.

No matter. Harry finished what he was paid to do and sent it out to the Department of Marriages and Births of England and Switzerland, a small tip for a certain journalist friend of his to leak it into the news (Hermione would like that. It would be a good enough payment; she did mention wanting to see him down, after all), sat back and waited.

It didn’t take long. Harry was taking breakfast one day - maybe a week after he sent the papers -, drinking his coffee while checking up on some papers he had for an actual, feet on the ground, case, when Dobby appeared. He was wringing his hands, and announced a visitor that was already in the entrance hall.

Harry rose from his chair, set aside the papers as he thanked Dobby, and went to find Daphne. He had given her the secret to his house a long time ago, just in case, and now she finally could use it.

He found her standing near the door, a small suitcase in her gloved hands. She wore a cloak covering a traditional-looking burgundy robe and leather corset, and no veil in sight, hair in loose ringlets.

“Daphne.” Harry breathed out, as if unable to believe it was her in front of him. Daphne smiled, letting go of the suitcase delicately, approaching and touching his face with careful fingers. Harry couldn’t believe she was really there, aware, conscious of everything. “Welcome home.”

Daphne smiled, all soft corners and no edge.

“It’s good to be here at last.” Was all she said, and he had to agree.


End file.
